#ficlets with ash
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“Are you actually blushing?” “No! Shut up.” for the Luke ship of your choice!
“Why are we here?”
Luke keeps scanning the bar, looking for a head of glossy black hair or a crooked smile. He shushes Alex.
“That's not—” Alex starts, only to sigh when Luke begins to drag him through the crowd of other twenty-somethings.
Reggie's wedged in the corner, playing on his phone. There's a guitar case under the table—different than the one he'd used last time, even at a glance.
Is there any instrument he can't play?
Alex nudges Luke. He jolts, then carefully doesn't look at Alex.
Luke clears his throat. “Hey—”
“Luke!” Reggie gestures wildly for them to sit down. “Are you playing?”
Luke returns Reggie's easy grin. He's still not looking at Alex. “Not tonight.”
Reggie’s smile morphs into a smirk.
“So you're here just for me?”
Luke's mouth works without sound as he grapples to get words out.
“That's—I also—where's Bobby?!”
Reggie laughs warmly, knocking his arm against Luke's. “He's at the bar.”
“I'm also here,” Alex says dryly before Luke can fumble to explain why he didn't see Bobby. “I'm Alex.”
Reggie turns to Alex excitedly.
“Oh, you're the drummer best friend!”
Alex huffs a laugh. He likes Reggie already; Luke can tell.
“That's me. And you? I assume Luke's trying to recruit you—”
“And Bobby!” Luke adds quickly. “I could've sworn we talked about this.”
Okay, so maybe Luke meant to talk to him about it. Them stopping here tonight was a little spur of the moment.
But it's the thought that counts, right?
Reggie introduces himself to Alex. Bobby returns before long, with a mixed drink for himself and a water for Reggie. Alex likes him too, and Luke smiles to himself as they talk about some sport thing that's happening.
“Think I could convince you to play?”
Luke startles. Reggie’s voice, his breath, is right in Luke's ear, and it sends a shockwave down his spine.
He swallows. “Um. Probably. Why?”
Reggie laughs quietly, low and warm.
“Because I want you, too. Won't you?”
Luke's brain is melting. It's—no one like Reggie has ever flirted with him so sincerely before. It's kind of unreal.
“What guitar ‘ve ya got?” he manages.
“An acoustic. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah,” he says dumbly. “For sure.”
Reggie hums. His lips graze Luke's ear.
“We're on soon then, sweetheart.”
He pulls away before Luke can reply.
“I'm grabbing more water, anyone else want anything?”
Luke's warm all over as he watches him leave.
Alex obscures his view, smiling smugly.
“Dude. Are you actually blushing?”
“No!” Luke hisses. “Shut up.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Relax. Bobby's playing on his phone. It's not like he's blind to what's happening, anyway.”
“That's—”
“And,” Alex continues, “I'm just intrigued. You hardly ever blush.”
Luke shrugs, even though it's true.
Alex hums knowingly. “He must be good, huh?”
Luke splutters, “I don't—I wouldn't—”
“His playing, Luke.” Alex smirks. “Although for you, I guess it's one and the same—”
“Would you shut the fuck up?”
“Maybe I would,” Alex says snarkily, “if you'd bother to tell me things.”
In Luke's defense, things have been happening really fast, but Reggie’s back before he can really say more.
But it all works out in the end, and their new band and his boyfriend are both good.
#blush prompts#peterpatter#ruke#ficlets with ash#julie and the phantoms#this wanted to become a whole full fledged thing whew
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For my favourite matchmaker, happy birthday @thelastwalkingsoul
If there's a world where time travel was possible Robin Buckley wishes she was in it.
Not to stop the Upside Down or save lives no she wishes she could go back in time and help Eddie Munson graduate so she didn't have to watch him make heart eyes over the Family Video shelves at one Steve Harrington.
Steve hasn't even noticed Eddie has been in the store for the last ten minutes. He's had his headphones on and has restacked the candy bar five times since the day has had a grand total of zero customers.
Finally, against her wishes, Eddie approaches the desk, the tape in his hand has a lot more teen heartthrobs and a lot less gore then he usually rents. The gooey lovesick expression is still plastered over his face. Steve still stacks the candy at snail pace, his head bobbing along to whatever is playing, probably the mixtape Eddie gave him last week.
"Sixteen candles, interesting choice, Munson."
The metalhead just sighs, his eyes still glued to Steve.
"Oi doofus, making goo goo eyes at dingus."
She slaps his arm which thankfully breaks his focus, Eddie doesn't even look sorry.
"Oh Birdie! Hey, do you think Steve would like this one?"
"You're not even going to watch it and you know it."
She wheeled the chair over to Steve giving his arm the same slapping treatment, "Steve your boyfriend wants to know if you'd like Sixteen Candles playing while you make out."
A dopey expression falls over Steve's face as he takes his headphones off and looks over at Eddie who shares the same dumb look.
"Aw Eds we could've had The Thing playing and I'd still want to kiss you," Steve says wandering over to him, leaning over the counter.
"Well I got to pick last time sweetheart it's only fair."
Steve quickly rings it up and puts his own cash in the till, "Well only fair that I pay then, sunshine"
"Baby you treat me too well, I'll buy us dinner on the way over."
"I'll show you how well I can treat you late-"
"STOP! I don't want to hear about you two bumping butts or anymore pet names, I'm melting away here."
"Aw Robs, don't worry you're still my snookums," Steve says a mischievous look in his eye as he walks over and squishes her cheeks together.
"Birdie, our lesbian love, our queen, you can pick our next make out movie so you don't feel left out."
"Ah!" Robin yelled and she decided now was the perfect time for her break leaving the two lovers to giggle and return to their heart eyes.
Maybe she didn't need time travel, as long as Steve kept that smile on his face, Robin was happy too.
#happy birthday ash#ty for being amazing#and putting up with beesil#love youuuuu#stranger things#steve harrington#eddie munson#steddie#ficlet
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28 with Phantom & Dew
I'm a mess already but I wouldn't mind it getting worse
here's a little something something (only a few months late and not the longest but still a feel trip)
Phantom could tell Dew was having a rough day from the moment he woke up; he just couldn’t seem to figure out when the problem started.
When he’d shuffled over to cuddle in the early light of day, Dew had rolled away.
If there’s one thing Phantom respects, it’s boundaries. So instead, he just placed a hand on Dew’s hip under the covers and kept his distance. But it seemed like even this tiny show of affection was getting under the fire ghoul’s skin. Dew huffed a frustrated sigh and got up to shower, he didn’t even bother to throw a cheeky wink at Phantom, finger crooked in a ‘come hither’ motion like usual.
Phantom didn’t let it get to him; he knows how turbulent Dew’s moods can be. He rolled with the punches and went about his own morning routine, making sure to give Dew a little extra space in their shared room.
The morning seemed to have set the tone for the rest of the day. Phantom tiptoed around Dew while the fire ghoul continued to ignore his presence. He knew the ghoul probably just needed some time, so he tried his best to stick to him like a shadow, quiet but close enough if Dew decided he needed him.
Well, maybe he stayed too close.
Phantom walked down the hallway back to the den, lost in thought while looking out the window and didn’t realize Dew had slowed his pace. He stumbled, his foot falling on the heel of Dew’s shoe, causing the fire ghoul to trip slightly. Dew caught himself on the wall and turned to Phantom, eyes burning with a fiery rage. Phantom’s cheeks flushed something fierce, an apology already spilling from his lips.
“Can’t you just leave me the fuck alone for five Satan-damned minutes?” Dew hissed, eyes narrowing at the younger ghoul. Phantom jumped back a few steps, raising his hands in defence at the angry tone. Tears pricked behind his eye lids as steam blew out of Dew’s nostrils.
“I’m sorry! It was an accident,” Phantom rushed out, biting his lip to keep the tears at bay.
“Seriously? You’ve been breathing down my neck all day. Do I have to spell it out for you?” Dew paused, as if waiting for a response, but Phantom had no idea what he was talking about. “I just need a break; you’re constantly there and sometimes I just want to do things without you. We don’t need to be attached at the hip every second of every day.”
Phantom was at a loss for words. Did he do something wrong? Why did Dew not talk to him about this before now? The confusion must have been written across his face because Dew just scoffed, his head shaking as he continued the walk back to the den alone, leaving Phantom to watch, wondering where it all went wrong.
“Oh Bug,” Phantom whirled around, wiping furiously at the tear that had started to fall down his cheek. Rain smiled sadly at him, walking forward to wrap his arms around the downtrodden ghoul.
“I can’t believe I didn’t see this coming,” Phantom whimpered into Rain’s chest, shoulders shaking as he took deep breaths of the water ghoul’s scent in an attempt to ground himself.
“Hey, no none of that,” Rain tsked, pulling back slightly so he could hook a finger under Phantom’s chin. He waited for the younger ghoul to meet his eyes before he spoke next. “You didn’t do anything wrong. This is on Dew. He doesn’t get to treat you like that. Just because he’s having a shitty day, it doesn’t make it okay for him to take it out on you.”
Phantom nodded, willing Rain’s words to sink in and take root.
#gloom writes#but just barely#and i'm rusty#also i haven't been in the ghoul mentality for a hot minute#but we love angst in this house#fic promp#thanks for sending this ash#sorry it took me seven years to get around to it#angst#phantom ghoul#dewdrop ghoul#dewtom#the band ghost ficlet
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"Louis, please," Harry called through the door, his body slamming against it as it was pushed close. "Please, I need to explain."
"You don't have to explain anything, Harry," Louis called back, angrily wiping at the tears that had begun falling down his face. "I heard you loud and clear the first time around."
"But-"
"Just go, Harry! Please."
Louis could hear Harry slump against the door in defeat, his own traitorous feet moving him closer and closer.
"You know I love you, right?" He could hear Harry whisper, his heart breaking for the second time that day.
#ashngst#ficlet#louis tomlinson#harry styles#larry stylinson#ash writes angst#rom com fic#take a chance on me
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Baconswag week #1 Secret relationships
There’s one vital part of the Abyss plan that Bacon hasn’t told his teammates. Nor will he ever be telling them. It’s the real reason he’s doing all this.
Really, Bacon doesn’t give a shit about Lifesteal. It doesn’t matter to him if player activity increases. This whole thing is a very absurd and round about type of foreplay. It’s about driving Ash to follow his clues, to find him. It’s a test of wits, because that’s the only thing that either of them get off on.
Mapicc and Zam questioned why they needed this whole puzzle, why they couldn’t just go ahead and start voiding the world waiting for people to notice. And part of Bacon agrees. The void could consume all, and that could be fun for a while.
But whats next once the worlds gone? This cycle is doomed to repeat, so it’s best to enjoy each turn of the wheel. And this time around, Bacon wants to make puzzles; because Ash likes puzzles, and Bacon likes Ash.
And he knows damn well that Ash likes him back. He can read it on the wall, the bulletin board at spawn posting offers and deals. The subtle ways that Ash works his business deals, how his hand reaches across the table for more than a handshake.
Both of them have come away from a few ‘offers’ with far more than they had bargained for. Deals signed with a kiss under the cover of night.
Lets just say there’s a reason that IHOB has been such a successful restaurant, and it’s not just quality product. Having the commissioners favour helps out in a lot of ways.
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Blurb with Ash Williams with prompt 22 "If you call me baby, I'll always be yours." please
"Is that so?" you ask teasingly. Ash nods his head as he looks up at you. It felt too good to be true, the guy who you had been pining after for an embarrassingly long time finally wanting you. "What's changed?"
"What do you mean?" Ash asked. You tapped him on the nose as you leaned down a little.
"What's changed, Ash? You didn't want me before."
"I wanted you, but I knew I wasn't good enough for you. I got my shit sorted out, the danger is gone, and I'd like my chance with you if you'll still have me."
"You're lucky that I'm just as stupid as my mother said," you laughed. Ash smiled as he leaned up and kissed you. "Fucking finally."
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Intermission
When Ash Jr. is trapped in a building shift incident and begins to freak out about his imminent death, the person who aids him is the least one he expects. The least helpful, too, but at the end of the day, Ash could really use a break.
(A musical break, even)
Pairings: Theodore Ash Jr. & Ahti, Theodore Ash Jr. & Ahti & Oldest House ♦ Words: 1117 ♦ Notes: For the @februaryficletchallenge, prompt Trapped In An Elevator
[on ao3] ♦ [on squidgeworld] ♦ [read on site]
When Dr. Theodore Ash Jr. first felt the elevator shake under his feet, and then stop menacingly, he immediately assumed he was going to die. Of course he was going to die after making the discovery of a lifetime, the cruel irony of it almost made him crack a smile; the fact that he could at least see the twisted beauty of the Oldest House in all its glory unlike his father before him almost brought him peace of mind, in those grim final moments.
He took it in stride at first. Face it proudly like the bearer of his name should.
Seeing the concrete surrounding him ad infinitum outside his fancy metal cage ever so slowly closing in, however, eventually panic began dawning on him.
He couldn't die. Not now, of all times. He still had so many things to research, so many caves down in the Foundation to find and study. His friends, the Id, he couldn't just leave them all alone while the rest of his team (or, God forbid, Director Northmoor) probed the place without a care in the world.
Breath began coming shallow as death started breathing on his neck. Trapped like an animal. No. Trapped like so many members of the Bureau by the shifting chimera of the building. Ash had been researching the energy leylines from the pillar, coming up with ways to stabilize it's uneasy entrails to avoid these senseless deaths, but maybe he had been far too late.
As his windpipe closed in panic, Ash would have wanted to say that he hoped someone else took his investigations and finished his work for the Bureau. But he was just a coward, and his mind screamed for someone, anyone, to realize where he was and came help him.
"...Yksin sankar yöhön syvemmälle matkaa pois,
Se taakka hänen harteillaan kuin lupaus aina ois,"
Jerking his head up, Ash recognized that faint melody before recognizing the accompanying voice. He couldn't see anything past the concrete, but the song came from a point somewhere above him. Swallowing, his throat hurt horrors, but he still croaked.
"J, Janitor, is that you?" He cursed at himself for not remembering his name, despite his appreciation to the mysterious man. The singing stopped, and he felt panic rising again. "Are you there? Can you hear me?"
Silence followed his many questions, until he heard his voice again, closer this time.
"Doctor?" His thick accent brought a smile to his face, relief washing over him for a second. "Were you running with your head as your third leg, and got stuck in the walls?"
He had no idea what that meant.
"More or less, I suppose." He yelled back, voice breaking a bit at the end, and was met with a candid laugh. If it were anyone else, Ash would be enraged and humiliated, but the Fin's idiosyncrasies put his mind at ease, or as much as it could in that situation. The man had a surprisingly vast knowledge of the building, either inherent or learned, and if he could laugh in the jaws of danger maybe it wasn't as bad as he originally thought it was.
Still, he was no God either.
"Friend," he tried again, grabbing the metal curtain and facing the darkness from where the voice came from, "there was a shift in the building and I happened to get caught in the middle! I'll need you to call Security to get me out of here."
"Yes, yes, do not worry, an emergency does not look like this. Ahti will make sure you get out of there, loose like a grandma's tooth." He sounded very sure of himself regardless of the wording, and Ash thanked him for that. Regardless, time started passing, with only the sound of the mop against the floor and the whistling of the man to fill it. Had... had he even called for help? He couldn't help but wonder, anxiously. Did he misjudge the strange man, misjudge Ahti? Or was he testing him? Could that be a test? "Eh. So nosy." The man called again, sounding... annoyed? Offended? "Don't wait as if waiting for the raising moon. You will not die. Not in an elevator, at least."
Ash froze, but then sighed. Fine. If the Janitor said he wasn't going to die there, he couldn't possibly die there, he guessed, bittersweet.
The walls stopped closing in, though.
"That's right, perkele." He heard him say, proudly, yet probably to himself, before stating louder, in a way that seemed less and less like a suggestion. "Take a rest. It will do you good."
Odd. What an odd fellow.
Two peas in a pod, he supposed. The Janitor and the House.
The Janitor and him, too.
Resting his back on the opposite wall and sliding to the floor, Ash could swear he felt a rumbling on the elevator, and despite every logic and every alarm ringing on his mind he actually felt his fear slowly melting away, as his breath eventually slowed down too. The Fin's words ticked him, but he was tired, he couldn't remember the last time he took a break. The last time he allowed himself to take a break.
Maybe he was safe. Call it good luck, or affinity, maybe the house wasn't going to swallow him alive. Not that day, at least.
"Ahti." He called eventually.
"Yes?"
"Could I ask one thing of you, at least?" Since you're clearly not calling anyone.
"What is it?"
"Could you sing to me that song you're always singing to yourself?" He heard a surprised noise.
"Sankarin Tango! You like it?"
"As a matter of fact, I do!" And then, to himself, somewhat feeling like the compliment will reach his ears regardless. "I've always found it quite lovely, actually."
"Ah..."
Ahti sounded extremely pleased, speaking to himself in Finnish with an audible smile on his lips, and Ash couldn't help but smile too as the last traces of fear left his mind and body. As music filled the air around him his worry was replaced instead with the low rumbling that now enveloped him, louder. Did it came from the elevator? From the Oldest House itself? Was it, and could even be a reaction, let alone a positive one? Was it a response to Ahti's singing? First drafts of theories rose and fell like his calmed down breathing, like the melody carried by the air, as he waited to be rescued. Or, as it eventually will come to happen, for the walls to open and for him to meet his janitor friend, standing alone on a recently cleaned room.
For now, Theodore Ash Jr. simply sat there, enjoying the choir in peace.
#control remedy#control game#theodore ash jr#ahti the janitor#february ficlet challenge#control fanfic#control
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Some prompts for ya, I'm thinking ST ships.
Polaroid Camera | Snow | Cold Fingers & Warm Lips
Leather Belt | New Bed Sheets | Chocolate Chip Cookies
Back Seat | River | Camp Trail
These are amazing I'm adding all of these to my tumblr prompt lists for later! My brain is the big sads so this is all like pre smut but there's still some cute shit in there <3 thank you this is just what I needed
❄️Snow | Cold Fingers & Warm Lips💋
Mungrove
AN: I love the idea of billy and eddie being neighbors okay
It’s cold today. And yeah, its always cold in Hawkins in the winter time, but today is like, record breaking cold, like ‘you should be worried about the effects on the planet as a whole,’ cold. It fucking sucks, but by some miracle, the camper still has electricity and heat.
Eddie's warming his extremities in front of a space heater in the living room when there's a sharp series of knocks on his front door.
He opens the door to his new (within the year new) neighbor, California transplant Billy Hargrove, who looks positively frozen on the spot.
“Powers out,” is all he says by way of explanation before shouldering his way inside.
“Oh shit,” Eddie says, looking across the street to the Mayfields/Hargrove's dark trailer. “What about your fami-”
“Motel. They’re fine.”
“Oh. Well, not that I don’t like your company, but uh, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Do you really think I want to be stuck in a fucking motel room with them?”
“Fair point,” Eddie snorts. Red was cool, but he didn't know much about her mom. And he knew too much about Neil. So instead of kicking the man out, he says “Make yourself at home.”
Billy goes immediately for the space heater and pulls his gloveless hands out of his jacket. He’s not wearing anything thicker than that faded brown leather jacket Eddie’s seen him rock at parties and jeans.
“Dude…”
“What?” Billy snaps, rotating his blue, most likely numb fingers in front of the space heater.
“You still haven’t gotten a proper jacket?”
“Didn't think I’d still be here,” Billy replies bitterly. And again, Eddie can't blame him. He knows how much Billy misses California. And how in Billy's twisted mind he misinterprets buying a winter coat as permanent as setting up roots and buying a house in Hawkins.
“Well, you are,” Eddie says, walking over to Billy’s side and flopping down on the ground to his right. “And in addition to that, you're here, so at least let me help.” He reaches out to take Billy’s hands into his own. Gentle, because they were going to hurt once they got circulation again, and started to rub across the palm with his fingers. His fingers are colder than ice, and knowing Billy, they have likely been like this for a while. The thing about Billy is, he only asks for help when he's desperate, and he never, ever uses those words.
Eddie looks over the purple digits again with a frown and brings Billy's hand close to his mouth.
Billy’s yank back was not only predictable but expected.
“What are you doing?” he asks, and while his voice is harsh, angry, his eyes are terrified, searching for any indication Eddie is setting him up for ridicule.
Eddie isn’t. He wouldn’t do that. They’ve already been about as intimate as you can be with a person in the 7 weird months of their new friendship, but that doesnt mean Billy stops being Billy.
“Do you want to lose your fingers?” Eddie asks.
“What?”
“Look at em. That’s not a good color.”
“That’s why I went to the space heater!” Billy defends.
“Suit yourself,” Eddie shrugs, not giving up, but knowing Billy needs to be lured in a very specific way. “Might be kinda hard to jerk off without fingers. Hey! Maybe you could have them amputate the whole thing and get one of those cool hook hands! Wouldn't really solve the jerking off problem though…”
“Oh my GOD,” Billy huffs before shoving his hands back into Eddie’s face. Anything to get him to just stop talking.
Eddie tries not to laugh too hard or boast his victory but he can’t help but feel good knowing the holes in Billy’s defenses.
Eddie takes Billy’s right hand back into his hands and starts to rub across the slightly frostbitten skin.
“Keep your other one near the heater,” he instructs, knowing there's no way he would convince Billy to touch any other part of Eddie’s skin at this stage. Billy does, and Eddie continues rubbing warmth and circulation back into the blonde’s hand. “Let me know when you start to feel it, it’s probably going to hurt.”
“Yeah, I know,” Billy huffs, looking pointedly everywhere but back at Eddie.
“Want to smoke tonight?” Eddie offers, hoping to lighten some of the tension.
“You got some bud?”
“Course I do,” Eddie laughs, rubbing across Billy’s palm. “Can you fold your fingers towards your palm yet?”
Billy turns his palm in Eddie’s hand and folds all of his fingers at the knuckle towards the palm. He winces a little but it's progress from where he started. His fingers are still a darker color than Eddie likes so he cups the folded hand in both of his and lowers his mouth closer. Billy doesnt pull away this time. Instead, he feels Billy’s breath inhale sharply at the same time Eddie exhales localized heat across his fingertips. If he was any closer, he’d be kissing them.
“Eddie…” Billy gasps, quieter than a whisper.
It's not necessarily intimate, but to Billy it must feel it, because his voice cracks the way it only does when he’s heavily, emotionally conflicted about something.
Fortunately for Billy, Wayne comes storming out of his bedroom and into the common area just then. Billy pulls his hands back into his pockets and Eddie sits back on his hands like they hadn’t just been touching.
It's ridiculous really, Wayne knows about Eddie. But still. Billy is always abundantly careful for the sake of his life.
Wayne looks stressed, and Eddie is suddenly worried something awful has happened.
“Everything okay Wayne?”
“Yeah, Claudia Henderson got stuck on her way coming home. She had to walk over a mile in this snow just to call me. I’m gonna go pull her car out, take her home.”
Wayne Munson. Patron Saint, he swears.
“Uh, alright, well, you should be careful too.” Eddie says, because he knows his van sure as hell won’t make it out of the park let alone all the way across town to bail him out if he gets stuck too.
“I’ll be fine Eds,” Wayne says, a little impatient. Though Eddie can’t really blame him. He would hate to have to leave the warm area of his home to brace the snow too. “Be good you two, you hear,” he says, looking specifically at Eddie.
Eddie threw his hands up in a scouts honor and it at least made Wayne laugh. “Yeah yeah.”
-
As soon as Wayne leaves, Billy exhales the tension he’s been holding. His hands seek out Eddie’s now; the back of Billy’s hand smacking Eddie impatiently until he continued the previous warming treatment. It was so goddamn funny and so Billy Hargrove Eddie bursts out laughing.
“You're ridiculous,” Eddie says, taking Billy’s other hand and resuming his previous actions.
“Whatever, you're into it.” Billy says, a little mean, but then he smirks and Eddie just about melts in place.
“I uh, I didn't offer this before because of Wayne, but-”
Billy can already read the writing on the wall and smirks as Eddie starts to move closer. The musician climbs into the blonde’s lap, taking each of Billy’s still chilled hands and moving them under his Hellfire shirt towards his stomach. As soon as his icy digits touch soft skin Eddie gasps, loud as the chill freezes him to the bone. It doesn't take long to melts into something so much hotter though. Billy’s hands move across his skin grip just above the top hem of his jeans. He squeezes tight, holding Eddie right where he wants him.
“Fuck me,” Eddie pants, because it really is cold, but he loves Billy’s hands on him. Any way he can get them.
“Funny,” Billy purrs, pulling Eddie closer as he starts an array of sharp nips up Eddie’s neck, “I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Please, Billy,” Eddie pants and that’s all it takes. Billy stands and lifts them both off of the leather sofa, holding Eddie against his body as he walks back into his bedroom, sharp teeth finally making contact with the meat of his neck.
#mungrove#st prompts#i loved these thank you so much#eddie munson#billy hargrove#mungrove ficlet#eddie x billy#find me on ao3#sunwarmed ash#links in pinned#i post new stuff every sunday#sinful sunday#stranger things#you can also find all my ST fics on my pinned link
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Thinking about soulmates and their shared wounds
Throughout Double Life, soulmates feel each other's pain. They feel other things, like emotions and when the other eats or sleeps for them, but mostly it's pain. Death wounds tend to stick around after respawn, which has always been the case in the Life games, but now it's your partner affected too.
Ren can't quite look anyone in the eyes for the rest of game, other than BigB who shares the same problem. Pearl has a scar on her back from where Joel stabbed her, a matching one adorning Scott. Cleo and Martyn have a twinge in their necks and a constant headache that reminds them both of their failed trust exercise. You get the picture.
Now, there was always something to catch the players by surprise in these games. In 3rd Life, it was the shock at seeing Jimmy, Cleo, and Skizz's bodies where they lost their final life. It was the numbness at having to bury a body. After the Battle of Dogwarts, the burials were quickly forgotten. In Last Life, the surprise was The Curse, the pure bloodlust that took over any and everyone, so different from the thrum of red lives.
What they didn't expect for Double Life was the permadeath wounds carrying over.
Jimmy wakes with a start, jostling poor Norman from where he lays next to him. The sudden shift from the cool air of the forest at night to the blistering heat of the mesa at mid day is stifling, and it takes him a moment to catch his breath. With a hand pressed against his chest, Jimmy takes in his surroundings.
'I'm not on the Ranch. I'm in Tumble Town. Deputy Norman is next to me and everything is fine.'
Except it wasn't. He was out first, again, like he always was. And it was worse because he dragged Tango down with him. Tango, the only one to tell him how proud he was of Jimmy without a hint of sarcasm or condescension in his voice; Tango, who never stood a chance of winning with him as a soulmate, but still fought like Hels to try. Oh, he hoped he wasn't too mad at him about costing them the win.
Bringing a hand up to wipe at his face, Jimmy was stopped short by the unnatural coloring of his skin.
"What in the world...?"
What once was tan, kissed by the sun in the mesa, Jimmy's hands now glowed an unearthly purple. Following the color up his arm, he noticed how the purple faded back to his natural skin color towards his elbows. Turning his hands over to look closer, Jimmy racked his brain for why this looked so familiar - both the distinct pattern on his arms and the eery shade of purple. It was nothing like the stain of purple dye, nor the color of amethyst. It was closer to the swirling vortex of a nether portal and the hypnotic gaze of an Enderman-
Oh no. That's what it was. This is the same mark that stained Skizzleman back in 3rd Life. Why was this here now? He knows he died to an Enderman, but the games were over, there shouldn't be any physical signs left over!
"Oh gods, this better fade soon. I don't need Joel teasing me about it any worse than he already will." He mutters to himself as pulls on a pair of leather work gloves. He's still The Sheriff and there's work to be done. He only hopes that Tango doesn't have any lasting pain from the sudden death...
~~
On the Hermitcraft server, Tango pulls on his own pair of black leather gloves. There's work to be done on Decked Out, and if they stop others from asking about the purple stains on his arms, then that's something only he needs to know about.
#double life smp#double life smp spoilers#jimmy solidarity#solidarity gaming#tangotek#empires smp#hermitcraft#ficlet#headcanon drabble#ash blabs#i uh. got a little carried away woth this one#not beta read AT ALL#just had thoughts this morning and had to get them out
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“I shouldn’t allow myself to get close to you…”
tw: minor internalized homophobia
"I can't, Salim. It...it ain't right." He couldn't close, not in that way. Not in the way that yearned for and accepted the softness and understanding in his friend's eyes. The love there, that wasn’t purely platonic.
They had been living together for a year now. After everything they had been through and with Jason's family failing him and and Salim's son busy with starting his own life in London, they grew closer. Cohabited. Saw movies together. Cooked together. Ate together. Laughed together.
And now Salim was asking them to love together. Jason wanted it, he did, but he shouldn't, he couldn't, no...
"You can't, my friend, or won't?" Salim's voice was gentle, as gentle as the warm, calloused hand laid over Jason's own.
"...I'm afraid." He admitted. Salim just had that effect on him, making him honest and open in ways that he never, ever would have dreamed of before. "I can't want you, but fuck...I do. I do, so fucking much. Damn near makes me sick to think about ever losing you."
"Then don't. Hold me close Jason, keep me with you just as I desire to keep you." Salim smiled, continuing his gentle rubbing and kind eyes. "We don't have to rush. We will take it our own way, in our own time."
"Yeah." Jason nodded. He wanted that. So he got it, along with the most tender kiss he had had to date.
#Nice to meet you Queue Queue. I'm Ryan Ryan.#my stuff#fanfic#ficlet#house of ashes#jason kolchek#salim othman#jalim
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Always a sucker for an accidental first kiss for Reggie/anyone?
“You know,” Reggie says teasingly, “if you wouldn't whine so much, we'd probably be done with all of these problems already.”
It's true. They've been sprawled on Luke's bed with their math books for an hour, and he's ranted more than he's let Reggie explain. Not that Reggie really minds—he loves being here—but it would be nice to do something else with their afternoon.
Luke scowls, just like Reggie knew he would. It's too soft to be a real scowl—it's more of a pout, really. Luke likes to put on a bit of a show. He always has, but it's worse now, now that he has those muscles and that fringe and—
Well, he's always had the eyes. The smile.
It's just that everyone else notices now.
Reggie pushes those thoughts down, along with the twinge in his chest, and tunes back in as Luke tries for sympathy.
“Come on, Reg. I didn't say a single thing during class, I deserve to complain about it now. Aren't you proud of me, anyway?”
“Mhm. Congrats on not getting detention.”
Luke huffs, but it holds a hint of laughter, and he smiles as he jostles Reggie. “I can't help it. I hate this stuff, you know? You're the only thing that makes it bearable.”
Reggie flushes, jostling Luke back in the hopes that he won't notice. “Flatterer.”
Luke's eyes narrow, which is all of the warning Reggie gets before he pounces.
“Take the compliment!”
Reggie shakes his head, too focused on flipping them to speak, but it doesn't last.
They're rolling all over their math notes as they wrestle, yelping and laughing, and Luke's eyes shine. He's sure that he'll win.
He finally manages to get Reggie pretty well pinned, and he grins, triumphant.
“Got you.”
Reggie lifts his chin defiantly—
Just as Luke's ducking his head to say something else. Their lips catch like lightning, twin points of fleeting electricity before the shock jolts them apart—
Well, their mouths, anyway. Luke's still laying on top of him, and Reggie swallows.
He has no hope of hiding his flush now. He simply stares at Luke, wide-eyed, heart hammering in his throat.
Luke exhales. He runs his tongue along his lip, and his eyes are hooded when Reggie forces himself to meet them again.
“Reg,” Luke says, “can I kiss you again?”
He nods, unable to believe—any of this.
But he knows, as their lips connect and sparks ignite beneath his skin, that this is real.
Needless to say—their homework doesn't get done.
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They That Bargain Ghosts
a sad little ficlet because @noahcaptainn told me about the Nastya coat theory with Death to the Mechanisms so my brain went off the rails because I want to know how Jonny got it so uh,,,, enjoy
cw guns and mourning
---------------------
Brian threw a hand out to stop the others in their tracks. It had been a long while since they had a proper family outing, but this planet had looked as good as any and they needed time to think. After Ashes disappeared in a bizarre encounter involving time travel, and with Ivy, Marius, and Raphaella currently absent, it couldn’t exactly be counted as the whole family, but at least they knew the other three were coming back. Brian, Jonny, the Toy Soldier, and Tim had decided to do some violence, take time to process, and perhaps formulate how to find Ashes.
Brian felt himself shaking, one hand wrapped into a cold bronze fist and the other held out stiffly across Jonny’s torso. His gaze was fixed on a small shop across the street, his dead metal eyes somehow containing the angry embers of a glare. He turned slowly to look at Jonny. The ache in his chest was the only real sensation, and therefore the most acute.
It didn’t take long for Jonny to see what had caught Brian’s gaze.
It was a long, dark coat, hanging in the window of the run-down shop. It wasn’t anything particularly unique — almost every planet had something similar for the citizens in colder climes — but it was distinct. The coarse cloth hung stiffly, the same way it had for millennia. It looked a bit odd without the body it was made to be wrapped around and the belt to cinch it tight, but the dull gold chevrons on the cuffed sleeves were recognizable enough.
It only took Jonny twelve steps to reach the window, where the name clumsily stitched onto the collar’s inside lining was distinct. Brian didn’t need to approach, didn’t even need to see Jonny’s face to know what it said.
Nastya.
But Brian did see Jonny’s face, and it fell, crumbled, and shattered into utter, overwhelming grief. Brian’s heart began to scream in pain as the usually stoic and coarse gunslinger had to put a hand on the window to steady himself. The telltale flashes of falling tears glittered momentarily in the air as they fell, and Brian noticed that Jonny’s knees were shaking, his shoulders curling in on himself like they hadn’t in so long. Jonny looked a bit like a child in that moment, frozen and trembling and trying in vain to hide his tears.
Brian walked to Jonny haltingly, although not quite as unnaturally as the Toy Soldier who joined their group mere seconds later, and Tim after that. They didn’t touch, they just stood in a silent cluster about their first mate and stared at that dark figment from another time.
Nastya had gone Out. She had gone a long time ago. So where had the shopkeeper gotten the coat? Jonny was apparently asking the same question, because in an instant the solidarity of grief was broken by Jonny’s fist slamming through the window, causing millions of tiny shards to explode like stars as it broke. Jonny was through the window and into the shop before any of them could stop him, and he breezed past the display with Nastya’s coat on it to squeeze a hand around the shopkeeper’s throat.
“Where did you get it?” Jonny growled at the poor old woman, gasping for breath as she looked at him with pure fear and bewilderment. “The coat.” Jonny gestured and shoved her towards the relic.
“A-A traveling merchant I do business with,” she stammered, her hands fluttering in panic. “They have excellent vintage finds, and I’d never seen anything of quite fine make, so I bought it.” There was a long silence, and Brian stepped through the now-open window. Faintly, he registered the doorbell — that must be Tim and TS entering as well.
“How much is it?” Brian asked. Jonny’s eyes were glazed and angry, and Brian did not want to cause this woman any more distress. Better they bought the coat and got out of there. The woman stammered and stuttered through her response, and Brian paid her what she was owed (plus a little extra for the broken window). He picked the coat off the display gently, brushing away broken glass, and offered it to Jonny.
The look in Jonny’s eyes as he accepted the coat was hollow and lost, as dark as a cavern and just as empty.
It took a long time to get back to the ship — at least it felt like it. It didn’t take long for Aurora to notice the thing in Jonny’s arms, and when she did she fell immediately silent. Brian and Tim and TS sat around the kitchen table without saying a word — what was there to say? Presumably, that Nastya was finally gone for good, there was no more hope of her return. Presumably, that someone had scavenged the well-kept coat from her gray corpse. Presumably, that none of them knew how they were feeling, even TS, who was only supposed to be pretending. It only took fifteen minutes before Tim’s shoulders shook and he broke down into tearless sobs, and he got up and left because Brian and TS were too mechanical to provide comfort. Nobody tried to stop Jonny when gunshot after gunshot fired in his room, and nobody went to check to see what he was shooting. They knew.
It was nearly a year before Jonny would wear the coat, and then he hardly took it off. It was nearly a year before Aurora became anything more than an ordinary spaceship again, and her return was the same day Jonny’s grief grew into determined homage.
“How do I look?” Jonny asked the group in the dining room, now consisting of Brian, Ivy, Marius, Raphaella, Tim, and TS. The coat was big on him but in an oddly comforting way, like Nastya’s presence was still there somehow.
‘You look like a captain,’ Aurora’s words — the first in eleven and a half months — illuminated on the wall opposite him. ‘She would be proud.’
#ouch#my soul#why#the mechs#the mechanisms band#the mechanisms#ficlet#jonny dville#nastya rasputina#drumbot brian#ashes o'reilly#the toy soldier#the starship aurora#raphaella la cognizi#baron marius von raum#ivy alexandria#gunpowder tim
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Would love to see a perspective flip on sprinkler splashes fireplace ashes!
sprinkler splashes, fireplace ashes
Eddie's been sober three months the first time he's back in Chicago.
It's hell, if he's being honest.
The venues are bigger now, the crowds larger and louder, the fans just this side of too comfortable getting in his space, and Eddie thinks most of the time they do it for the thrill of it -
I flirted with a serial killer - I bought that cult leader a drink - I did a line off the tank of a toilet with That Guy Who Probably Killed That Girl In His Hometown, and then he let me fuck him raw in the stall.
The bar is maybe five blocks from Robin and Steve's apartment, and he shouldn't know that, but he does. He hadn't wanted to know, not really, but Dustin knew his tour schedule and Dustin knew the kind of reckless shit Eddie'd gotten up to in years past, and Dustin probably thought Eddie might even hit them up for a "Hey Sorry I Fucked Off And Never Spoke to You Again Because I'm So In Love With Steve It Was Killing Me" drink.
He didn't. He wasn't -
The drink he's been holding in his hands for the past thirty minutes like a challenge crashes into the brick beside his head and then there are hands on him, hands over him, a knee kicked between his legs and a snarling grin on Whats-His-Names face when Eddie's cigarette fizzles out in the snow, and Eddie can't think, can't move, can't breathe, and -
The hands around his neck go loose, and Eddie has just enough time to watch those fingers curl into a fist before his side is erupting in pain, ribs screaming - he stumbles, trips, gets a mouthful of disgusting snow and a steel-toed boot to his chest and he has just enough time to curse the world for fucking him over right as he's decided he wants to be alive before the world goes black.
---
It hurts. Seeing him, breathing the same air as him, being cold and vulnerable and fucking naked, standing in Steve Harrington's room, in this apartment that is so clearly well loved and well lived in, somewhere he's never been, never been invited to, never been welcome in, even now, seeing as he'd pushed past Steve without waiting for an invitation, sure as he was that the door would be slammed in his face if he tried.
It hurts, because Steve is gentle, soft and kind, clinical as he strips Eddie of sodden clothes and wraps him up in a blanket like he thinks Eddie is worth the trouble of warming; because Steve's fingertips ghost over the necklace of purpling marks on Eddie's neck and his gaze goes sharp when Eddie admits he'd probably have been raped if not for his embargo on any sort of mind altering substance, like he cared enough to be incensed, like he cared enough to take that bat tucked behind his bedroom door and go after the shithead who'd figured Eddie was his next victim.
It hurts, because Eddie hadn't been ready to be told 'no' before, so he'd left - and now he wishes he'd just had the nerve to tell Steve the truth, before that phone call, before they'd gutted each other and danced on the steaming entrails.
It hurts, and when Steve finishes unlacing his shoe and leaves Eddie with a pair of sweats and a sweater gone soft with wear, and it hurts when he raises his arm over his head and his bruised skin stretches over his ribs, and it hurts when he catches a whiff of the clean sweater and realizes Steve has changed detergents.
His eyes catch on a flash of silver when he draws the string of the sweatpants tighter around his waist, and Eddie knows he can't blame his bruised ribs for the way his breath catches in his throat.
---
The thing is, Eddie has never been very brave (when danger reared his ugly head, he bravely turned his tail and fled) and every time he'd let himself wonder, every time he'd let himself linger on the feel of Steve's knee pressed to the inside of Eddie's, every time he'd held Steve's gaze long enough to wonder what Steve saw reflected back, he'd known he was a step closer to fleeing, and he'd still done it. Still curled greedy fingers around the nape of Steve's neck, still sought his gaze in a crowded room, still pressed all those little trinkets into Steve's hands any time he could muster the courage to admit (even if only to himself) that his own birdy eyes had seen those little treasures and thought of Steve.
But here it all is, in sharp relief - every last ounce of bravery Eddie has ever possessed, catalogued in an old hat box, rattling around when Eddie brushes through them - the ring he'd yanked off his own finger and slid onto Steve's pinky in a moment of weakness, Eddie's calluses catching on the hair below Steve's knuckle - a bottle cap he'd twirled between his fingers for an hour just because Steve had watched, mesmerized by the movement, for long enough that Eddie noticed - pennies and shiny rocks; lodestones Eddie had always assumed didn't carry enough weight to make a difference.
And.
And Eddie's never been very brave, but the proof is in the pudding, and Steve's sweater is warm, and in the low light from the desk lamp the pig ring looks worn down at the edges like it's been fiddled with enough to loose some of it's sharp edges, and it doesn't quite fit his finger any more, and Steve -
He has to ask, anyway. He's alive and breathing and surrounded y the warmth of a life he'd surgically removed himself from out of fear, but Steve's kept pieces of him anyway, and -
"Because you gave it to me, idiot."
---
It could mean a million different things, but in the end it means exactly what Eddie had always been too afraid to name the desire for it to mean what he wanted it to mean.
Steve tells him in fits and starts, like he's worried the wrong phrasing will have Eddie tearing back off into the cold Chicago night, but Eddie isn't sure anything barring Steve bodily throwing him out could move him - not with Steve's warm words and warm eyes and warm hands searching out the empty spaces in Eddie's heart - not when Steve burrows under the quilt on his bed and slides his arms over Eddie's skin - not when "I thought there'd be time" turns into "Please, give me time now."
Eddie has all the time in the world.
Distract me from my Steddie BB plotholes!
Unusual Fic-Specific Asks for Authors
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"Ash."
You wake up to a splitting headache and a pair of brown eyes.
What happened? You mean to say, but it comes out as, "Orym? Ow, fuck."
"Easy," he says, and his hands hover over your chest. They don't touch, remaining an inch or so above, and you notice it and you hate that you notice it. You're on the ground, but even the hard-packed dirt is more comfortable than the pain in your head. You look away from his eyes and up into several more concerned faces.
What happened? You try again and it comes out like, "What the fuck?"
Close enough.
"You went rogue, that witch said something to you and you completely turned, started smashing anything you could get your hammer against, including our witch." It's Chetney, leaning out past Orym with that wild look he sometimes gets, "It was beautiful." Yep there it is.
"Shit."
"Yeah, shit," Orym agrees, but he's eased now. Some of the tension bleeding out of him at the shoulders.
"Sorry Imogen," You say because for some reason it's getting easier to say that word to these people, to give some ground. And you just caught sight of her split lip. She grins down at you, adrenaline stupid and bloody.
"Oh, don't worry yourself, Ashton. I knew it wasn't your doing and you best believe I made sure she knew it wasn't either."
"Imogen was amazing! She melted that woman's mind!" Laudna sings happily. You see her rifling through what you thought was a pile of clothes, but on second glance, it's definitely the meat mechanic's body.
"And the rest of her... Puppets?"
Lightning crackles over Imogen's forearms and hands.
"Fucking good." You say and you meant to say it.
Orym shoos the rest away and you wonder if he can see that your headache is starting to throb down the rest of your body or if he just knows that even though some small part of you preens under the attention of your crew, it's still too much. It's too much. You wonder if he knows that you don't mind if he stays now that it's quiet again. You tell him the only way you know how.
"At least tell me it was a little hard to take me out of the game?"
He settles back down into the dirt beside you, cross legged rather than on his knees, and gives you a guilty smile.
"I'm sorry about your head, Letters said you're all healed but the healing might give you a headache anyway," he says, and there they are again. Brown eyes.
"Shit, I've had worse. Glad you were gentle with me," you say and then immediately grimace. What the fuck, mouth? Why would you say that?
"Of course I was." He says and it makes you burn even hotter. And then, "Here, to make up for it."
You look down and it's a flower. You don't know what kind, just that it's small and delicate and he's giving it to you.
"Where will I put it?" You say instead of thank you. You wonder if he can hear how floored you are. He hums and takes you in, makes you squirm. Brown eyes. Shit.
"Here," he says with satisfaction and tucks the thing into a strap on your vest, pink against red against green. His fingers stay for one second. Two. Three. Four. And then they're gone and your breath goes with them. "Pink rose. It means forgiveness, and gratitude."
"Ah, you're forgiven. Hell, I'd be mad if you didn't try to stop me." Your voice doesn't even shake, you're a fucking pro at keeping it under wraps. It helps that you can't exactly blush anymore but who's checking.
He smiles, "Yeah, I figured. Still, I never want to hurt you, Ash." And then he walks away, leaving you and your rose in the dirt.
Shit.
BONUS
Later that night when Laudna spies the rose still tucked against your chest and tells you it can also mean revealing true feelings you choke on your drink so hard you think you might die and you almost miss the smile on his face as he buries it in his own tankard. His ears are red.
#ficlet#cr3#ashton greymoore#orym of the air ashari#ashrym#my writing#critical role#bells hells#the language of flowers#I like that orym calls them ash
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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Anime)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: one-sided palletshipping
Characters: Satoshi | Ash Ketchum, Ookido Shigeru | Gary Oak
Additional Tags: Palletshipping Week 2024, Roleswap, AU where Ash was the one who stopped being a trainer, Ficlet, Pining
Series: Part 7 of PalletShipping Week 2024
Summary:
Ash watched Gary move through the years until he finally made it to the International League. He has mixed feelings.
#PalletShipping Week 2024#Day 7#Prompt: AU Free Day#palletshipping#pokeani#pokemon anime#trainer gary#trainer ash#ficlet#au where gary was the one who kept going#mild angst#sorry this one sucks oops
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wrote an entire ficlet of 999 words in four hours
#tani's personal shit#LOVIGN these ficlet challenges w/ prompts and stuff#this is actually helping me write?? fuck yeah.........#also! its a small friendship piece between ash jr and ahti :)#i KNOW they'd be friends i Know it!#aaa hopefully posting it tomorrow <3 dont like posting stuff w/o editing and i need to do some stuff atm
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